Sunset
by yams are delicious
Summary: From the port near Daath, Asch liked to watch the sunset. Who knew some things could be so painful?


**MY FRIENDS FORCED ME TO UPLOAD THIS I STILL KINDA THINK IT'S CHOPPY AND BAD AND SORT OF AWKWARD BUT OH WELL!**

**yeah um sorry. asch muses on his life and stuff and shit flies**

* * *

><p>It really was a horrible feeling.<p>

The hatred. The uselessness. The helplessness. Everything.

His hands flicked a strand of stray hair out of his face. The sky was turning pink, dotted with the remains of clouds and stained with the sun's warmth. The water before him was sparkling, birds circling in search of food. Their squawks resounded faintly far above.

"Asch."

He lifted a shoulder in recognition. He heard the approaching sound of boots tapping on pavement, the gritty hum of metal cuffs sliding across uneven ground.

"What do you want, Sync?"

The other general moved to stand beside him. "You're always here at sunset. Thinking about something, perhaps?" His hand slid to his hip, almost mockingly. "Your past, maybe? A princess you used to love?"

"Shut up." His voice lacked the angry vigor it usually had.

Sync chuckled, tapping his mask with a gloved hand. "You know we God-Generals shouldn't spend time thinking about such things. Our pasts. It's just a waste of time. We've all been through things we don't want to think about."

Asch glanced at him. The ocean roared below, and he stared back down into the water. "You're no different from me. I know you often think about the circumstances of your birth."

Sync laughed again, then trailed off, his smile slowly fading. "You're right. Of course._ Replicas._ Monsters born as replacements for people. It _is_ a painful existence." He eyed the older general warily, his own expression, covered by his mask, impossible to read. "I know you hate us."

"Not all of you. Mostly _him."_

There was a long, pregnant silence. Above, an osprey circled before diving into the water, sending up a spray of fizzing droplets. Then it rose, a flopping fish in its talons, before it disappeared into the sky.

"Van told me to watch you, you know." Sync shifted his weight to the other foot, shrugging a shoulder. "He says you're fragile. That you might betray us anytime."

"He might be right."

Sync grinned. "We'll be enemies, then," he said. "No more fun talks like this."

"I wouldn't consider this fun."

"You're certainly curt today."

"Shut up."

Sync shrugged again, pivoting on his heel so that he no longer faced the ocean. He twirled one of his ribbons around his finger carelessly, tilting his head to look back. "You and me, he's just using the both of us. We have no one else. Just the Commandant. And he's simply using us for his abilities."

"I know." Asch closed his eyes, the brightness of the sun pervading his vision. "It's..."

"...painful," Sync finished. He dropped the ribbon entwined around his index finger. "I know, too. But we have no one else to tell us that our existence is needed. That we're _there. _We're empty._"_

Asch wasn't usually one to go with other people's words. But Sync's words were true. His hands clenched around the railing of the wharf. "There's no one else to tell us we're even people. That we're alive, that someone wants us around. So even if it's just to be used..."

Sync laughed bitterly. "We'll follow the Commandant just to be accepted? That's right. I was born to be a substitute. But I wasn't even good enough to be just that. You were born to follow the Score. To die at Akzeriuth. Your father, your mother, your uncle... they told you that you would be king. That you would grow up and be with Princess Natalia forever. But they lied. Your parents left you for dead the day you were born."

His hands clenched harder on the metal bars. "Don't say that about Mother."

Sync laughed again. "Still feeling tied down by your past, huh? You should let go of her, your mother. She belongs to the replica now."

Asch growled, glaring at the water below. It shimmered, as if to mock him.

Sync began to walk away. "Think about it all you like, Asch, but we're not needed anymore. That's it."

Soon even the resounding click of Sync's boots on the ground faded, and Asch stared out into the sunset again. The sun was slinking below the horizon, and the sky was beginning to turn a eerie shade of black.

Conversations with Sync never ended well. The replica was bitter - bitter and jaded, never with a kind word to spare, always mocking.

Asch turned from the ocean, the ocean that was beginning to turn a murky black like the mud of the Qliphoth. The moon was beginning to rise into the sky.

He walked back to the cathedral. It was black against the light of the moon.

* * *

><p>He saw the replica with her. Her hair of honey, eyes of hazel. Someone he had once pledged his life to, someone he had once loved with the childish innocence of youth.<p>

And that _thing__._ Hair of red, a few shades lighter than his own. Narrowed green eyes like his, trailing fiery hair like his. The one with the same face as him. Brazen and foolish, with the innocence of a spoiled child. It was disgusting.

"Control yourself, Asch," Sync's voice was mocking, like always.

"I could say the same for you," he muttered. There was the boy, with green hair like Sync's, of the same stature, the same thin body and abilities. And the same face, should the other God-General remove his mask. Sync was glaring at him, though surreptitiously.

"Heh," Sync laughed. "You noticed, huh?"

"Please." It was the green-haired boy, the one like Sync. His voice was quiet. "I know it's difficult, but don't hate me or Luke."

"_Luke,_" Asch couldn't help but laugh. Sync turned his eye on the boy, glowering despite their equal height.

"How could I not? You're a replica too, like me," Sync growled, "but you're needed. You were good enough. All the rest of us, we were thrown away! Because we weren't as good as _you!_ How do you feel about that, you piece of-!"

"I'm sorry." The boy's eyes were shining. "I know you hate the world, the world that allowed your existence. I don't like...no, I _hate_ being a replacement and nothing more, too. But that isn't a reason to hate the world! We can...no, we _must_ try to change it-"

"Fon Master Ion," Sync interrupted. His voice was filled with venom, malice coating his voice like phlegm. "That's your name, right? _Fon Master Ion._ That's enough to prove that you're wanted by this world! You don't know what I would give to be called _Fon Master Ion._ To be needed! To not feel empty like this!"

"Sync. I'm sorry."

"You damn well better be...!"

It began to rain. The sky had already been gray before, dismal and clouded, but now the raindrops were falling - at first in a drizzle, then a downpour.

"Damn it," Sync muttered. The rain slid down his mask, dripping down in tiny torrents before his face. "Let's get back inside the Tartarus."

Asch looked away. "It's the replica."

It was running, red hair flying behind it, the ends turning a radiant gold like the light of fire. It looked angry - angry, just like Asch. Their faces truly were the same. Sword outstretched, shouting into the dismal sky.

"Hand over Ion _now_!"

"Hmph," Sync muttered. He grabbed Ion's arm, probably more roughly than he should've, dragged him into the giant landship while a group of Oracle Knights surrounded them. "Come _on,_ Asch! Stop staring at him and let's get _moving!"_

Asch ignored the younger general's words. He couldn't possibly understand how he felt, his raging desire to _kill_ this replica.

This replica of him. The one who took his life and more from him. He drew his sword. Its obsidian blade shimmered, raindrops collecting on the metal.

"It's you!"

The replica jumped forward, white steel blade clashing against his own. He glared at the replica, stared it in the eye. He could feel the replica's resolve wavering. Just a bit more, and he could knock its sword away, rip open its throat with a slash of his blade-

"Ion takes priority right now, Asch! Don't get us into unnecessary trouble!" Sync's voice resounded from the loudspeaker on the Tartarus's hull.

"Dammit, I know!"

Now wasn't the time. With a hard hit from his blade, he sent the replica flying back. It barely managed to stay on its feet, stumbling, panting. What a failure. Disgusting.

"Luke!" The sound of running, a shout from a blond man. Asch recognized his voice. Guy. He was shouting its name, the useless replica.

_His_ name. No. Not anymore.

Now Guy was running over, putting a hand on its shoulder, fussing over it like he was a baby. It was disgusting.

To think he had once considered Guy his friend. To think he had once played with the older boy in the courtyard of his manor home, laughing and giggling and pulling at the boy's hair. He didn't need him.

It didn't hurt at all. Never. It didn't hurt that he knew his childhood friend wanted to kill him, hated him with all his soul. It didn't hurt that his former friend would choose the replica over him any day.

No. It didn't hurt.

The replica was still gasping for air. A girl - Van's sister, was it? - ran over, the Fon Master's guardian, _her..._ Princess Natalia. There she was, putting a hand over his chest, asking if it was okay, if it needed her to heal it. It pushed her away, but he saw her eyes, filled with concern and maybe even love.

Disgusting.

He walked over, stood over the replica. It cringed, it was afraid, angry, defiant, spoiled, disgusting...!

He glanced at Natalia, and she gasped. He turned to the replica; venom dripped from his whispering voice. "Aren't you the ladies' man?"

The replica growled, glared at him. How pitiful.

"Asch! Come _on!" _Sync was getting angry.

Asch turned and ran, leaping up the stairs and into the Tartarus's impenetrable hull. He glanced back one last time.

The replica seemed to be in pain. Good riddance. The door closed behind him.

Seeing friends who had once been his, crowding around that replica...

It didn't hurt.

* * *

><p>"<em>We must create a new world of replicas, freed from the Score."<em>

The words were painful, remembering them. Commandant Van's words.

The Commandant had done horrible things to him. Kidnapped him when he was ten, chained him in a tiny cell in an abandoned castle. Gotten the Six God-Generals to do experiments that hurt, hurt more than just physical pain. Experiments that hurt from shame, betrayal, shattered dreams. Replicated him, allowed him to return home and see that his parents no longer wanted him, that someone who looked just like him had taken his family; his friends; his life as Luke fon Fabre, tertiary heir to the throne of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear.

But, even so, he wanted to be Van's student. He wanted Van to accept him, with his calm words and his way of earning trust from everyone he spoke to. He wanted...

He wanted someone to _care._ He wanted someone to tell him he was important, that he lived in a world that needed him, that he wasn't just a throwaway pawn to be killed in order to follow the Score.

But...a _world of replicas._ Van wanted to destroy the world and replace it with replica lands, replica people.

He couldn't go along with that, watch it happen before his eyes. There were things in this world that he still loved. He couldn't watch Natalia, Mother, Father, and all the others die before his eyes, pleading for him to save them. He couldn't watch Van erect replicas of them, replicas that never knew him, replicas that would stare into his green eyes and wonder, "_who are you?"_

It would break his heart.

So he left Van behind, betrayed the other five God-Generals who followed Van's ideals without question.

And now here he was, in Daath, watching the sunset from the wharf as always. Clinging to the metal railing, watching the sun sit atop the waves and turn the sky the color of fire.

"So you're here like always, Asch."

He recognized the voice as Largo's. He knew Largo followed Van without question as one of the God-Generals, but Largo was level-headed. Probably the most so of all six of them. He would not try to kill him, not here.

"Largo." He turned and nodded his head in recognition. Largo walked over, towering over Asch like he did to just about everyone else.

"Watching the sunset, huh?" Largo asked. "What does that mean to you?"

Asch remained silent for a moment, trying to find the right words. "...A lot."

Largo looked grim. "My wife, Sylvia... she loved the sunset. She and I would watch it every day, watching the beautiful moments before day turned to night. It meant a lot to us."

"...Natalia and I used to watch the sunset together from the cliffs near Baticul, overseeing the ocean," Asch said. "We made so many promises while doing that."

His eyes fell. "Promises that I can't keep."

Largo was quiet, then turned to face him. "We've all had hard lives. And pasts we'd like to go back to, but can't."

Asch closed his eyes. "Natalia..."

Largo put a hand on the shorter God-General's shoulder, and he opened his eyes in surprise to look up. Largo smiled one of his rare, kinder smiles. Even so, it seemed...sad.

"Take good care of my daughter, Asch," Largo said. "She really loves you."

Then he turned and walked away, scythe draped over his shoulder, sunset illuminating his back.

* * *

><p>Things had changed.<p>

Wide, green eyes staring into his. Pleading ones. Red hair, like always, cropped short to the shoulder, face like his.

"Please, Asch! _Please!"_

He couldn't stand it.

"Please come with us! You're strong, you're the original! We need you, _please!"_

A voice like his, but higher, clearer. He couldn't stand a second of it. "Shut up! You're infuriating!"

The replica fell back, still with that _infuriating_ face.

In the city beneath the earth, a city that had belonged to Yulia, he had told the replica the truth. The bratty, annoying, _disgusting_ replica.

_"That's right! You're a second-rate copy of me! A mere replica!"_

The words had felt good, fiery and righteous in his mouth. He saw its face contort, change into an expression of horror, of realization, of pain and desperation. It felt so good, inflicting inner turmoil on the replica that had taken everything from him, making its insides hurt in a way that physical pain could never compare to.

_"You're lying! It...it's not true! It's not true, it's not!"_

It had looked so pitiful then. It felt good to reduce it to a whimpering pile of failure, a foolish, inferior replica with no one to go to. Its friends had turned away from it.

It felt good to make it go through the same thing as he had. To tear everything away from it - its friends, its happiness, its _humanity._

But now... he wondered if doing so was the right thing.

He wasn't worried for the replica - he never would be. But after that, the bratty replica had insisted on changing, and it _had. _For the price of a hefty amount of self-esteem, the replica was now charismatic, kind, always looking for the good in people.

It made him angry. So, so angry. It twisted his insides, made it hurt worse when the replica looked up to him, treated him with almost reverence, insisted on his company every moment they met. He wanted to hate the replica so, so much. But watching him still treat him as if he were his - dare he say it - _friend_ even after verbally abusing him, calling him dreck, inferior replica, _defective_... it was simply infuriating.

And it wasn't just _that._ The replica would often stare at the ground, looking dejected, calling itself things like _monster_ and _inferior_ and _inhuman _and _unneeded_ until someone shouted at it to stop. It hurt to watch the damned replica call itself such things simply because it meant it was saying an _unneeded replica_ had taken his place, taken his everything.

It made him angry to see that such a pathetic excuse for a human being had taken his life away from him.

Perhaps he was contradicting himself. But it didn't matter; the replica was infuriating, and that was how it was.

"Asch."

"Shut _up,_ you inferior replica! Didn't I tell you to _shut up?"_ He turned on the replica, who stumbled backwards another two paces. "You're infuriating! All the time! All you can talk about is what a failure you are! I don't want to see such stupidity coming out of my face!"

His words came out harsh, just the way he wanted. It seemed afraid, seemed to almost shrink away.

"I'm sorry, Asch-"

"_Shut up! _Stop saying you're sorry and stand up for yourself, dreck!"

The replica looked away, and he thought he could almost see defiance in its face. Good. For Lorelei's sake, the replica needed to grow a goddamn backbone.

"I...Asch..." the replica finally said, and it seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"Whatever." He couldn't stand to hear any more of such meaningless _blubbering._ "I'm leaving."

"W-wait, Asch-!"

He didn't bother to hear the rest.

* * *

><p>The sunset was especially radiant today. He supposed it was because it was Rem-Decan, and the sun, Rem, was always particularly bright on the month of her name.<p>

He sighed. "Happy birthday, Natalia. You've finally come of age..."

Remembering her was painful. It was painful to remember the times they laughed together, when they played in the flower fields and when she braided wreaths of snow-white flowers in his hair. When she sneakily climbed out of the castle and he sneakily escaped from the manor so they could sit by the lake and watch the fireflies and the swans kiss the surface of the water.

It was painful to know she was no longer his to be with.

He turned around, leaned against the railing, back towards the ocean and the sun. Admittedly, he was a bit surprised to see Arietta sitting there hesitantly, sitting upon her oversized liger brother, holding the doll to her chest. Upon catching his gaze, she yelped, then jumped off of her steed, standing waveringly before taking a few steps forward.

"Asch," she muttered, lifting her doll to cover her mouth and muffle her words. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm here a lot." He didn't intend for his words to be so curt, but they came out that way. The girl lifted her doll to cover her face.

"I'm sorry." She paused. "Tomorrow, I'm going to fight Anise in the Cheagle Woods. To avenge Mommy. And... and... to avenge I-Ion."

Anise was the current Fon Master Guardian, wasn't she? The one who traveled with the replica, clung to it with joking words of marriage and money? Ion was dead now. Or rather, the replica of a Fon Master who was destined to die at age twelve.

Arietta didn't know that, though. She believed her Fon Master - the original - was still alive, the one who had taught her human words and human letters. She didn't know the Ion who had died recently - the Ion whom Anise had betrayed - was only the replica of the Ion she loved.

Asch knew not to tell her, just like all the other God-Generals. She had loved Ion, and knowing that he had died - died three years ago, without her notice - would throw her into the depths of despair.

"...I see," he said. "How do you think you will do?"

The girl bristled savagely at this, in a manner that had surely given her the name Arietta the Wild. She rasped out a few words in her native tongue - the language of the monsters - before turning to face him, fire in her eyes.

"I will _kill_ them." Her voice was still raspy, as if her words were somewhere between Monster and the Fonic Language. "I will _kill_ them for Mommy and _for Ion!"_

She looked at him, and she seemed to calm. Her voice became meek again, the liger doll once again lifted to muffle her words. "Asch, why did you leave us? The Commandant is so kind... he's always willing to lend us a hand. Why did you leave?"

He looked out into the sunset, again. "...I couldn't accept his views. I can't accept destroying the world and replacing it with replicas. Besides... he was only using me. For my hyperresonance."

"T-that's not true!"

Asch laughed, a bit bitterly. "You trust him too much, Arietta."

"N-no, you're wrong," Arietta said. "Besides, Ion wanted this. What Van is doing. Before that mean Anise changed him."

"...I'm sorry, Arietta," he knew not to insult the Fon Master's ideals before her, "I just can't. There are things I hold dear in this world that I can't part with."

"I... suppose you're right." Arietta shrugged her thin shoulders. Her stature was remarkably thin and small for a girl of her age - she was going on eighteen this year - but it wasn't hard for her to intimidate people, with her brother, the liger, following her everywhere. "I-if Ion hadn't wanted this from the start, I s-suppose I couldn't stand to destroy him along with the world. I _know_ I wouldn't."

Her fingers clenched, nails digging into the soft, plush body of her liger doll, distorting its face. "But _why_ do you like those people? The people who killed Mommy? _Why_ would you hold them dear?"

She was challenging those he believed in. Challenging Natalia... maybe even Guy, though he wouldn't admit it. His eyes turned hard. "...You don't know enough about me, Arietta. You couldn't possibly understand."

"They're horrible people!" Arietta was almost shouting now, and the beginnings of tears were beginning to gather between her eyelids. Her liger growled behind her, getting to its feet. He cringed. Now was not the time to get into a fight with another God-General.

He tried to keep his voice level. "No. There's more to them than you know. You can't judge someone by one of their actions."

Then Arietta sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh like a deflated balloon, punctured by a needle. She muttered something in the language of the monsters, then looked up at him.

"I... I might die tomorrow."

"I know."

"I'm ready for it," she said, her characteristic eyebrows wrinkling into a worried grimace. "I'm ready to die. For Ion. For Mommy."

Asch turned away. The wind whistled through their hair. "Good. You'll need that sort of conviction. To die for what you believe in."

Arietta was walking away, climbing back onto her liger. "...You too, Asch. Good luck. We're enemies now, and the other God-Generals won't go easy on you just because you were once one of us."

Her words were surprisingly level-headed and mature for what he knew of her. But he supposed, in the face of death, just about anyone would gain a bit of wisdom. He grimaced. "I know."

Arietta nodded, and her liger roared. In a flurry of sound and power, the monster was off, running into the trees beyond, the girl on his back riding off to face her final stand. Then she was gone.

Silence. The ocean roared, the wind whistled through the trees.

It hurt, like always. His body was weakening, and a cough welled up in his throat.

"I'm running out of time."

* * *

><p>"S-Stop! <em>Asch! <em>You can't die! You can't! I won't let you!"

He closed his eyes, furrowed his eyebrows. That voice. That horrible voice. That infuriating face, the same as his, glaring at him, pleading for him to stop. The winds from the high-up roof of the Tower of Rem slapped his and its hair, temporarily obscuring his vision with each gust of air. It was cold. Deathly cold. Fitting.

"_Asch! _Don't be stupid! Why are you doing this, after all that talk about not wanting to die?"

"I could say the same for you, replica!" he exploded, knocking the replica back onto the ground. "You told me you didn't want to die! So who else is going to do this?"

He grabbed the replica by the collar. He could tell it didn't want to die either, with those eyes like a cornered animal. "This is for the world, replica. There isn't any other option, dammit! What use is a replica that can't replace its original?"

"Asch! _Please._ You can't die. It should be me," it said, eyes watching him carefully, as if he would run away any moment to go tumble off a cliff. Humph. He wasn't as suicidal as it was.

"No."

Asch was dying. It was as simple as that. The replica wasn't, right? So it should be him, not it. He was dying, he was going to disappear, and that was why...

"I'll do it!" the replica was saying, pleading. "Please. It should be me, not you. I've already decided. These replicas should die with _me,_ not you!"

"_No. _No!"

But the replica was running over, tugging his arm, wrestling him to the ground for the Sword of Lorelei. Goddamnit, the replica was stronger than he expected...!

"Give it back to me, you stupid dreck, idiot, failure-" Just as the sword was wrenched out of his gloved hands and he was about to run forward to stop the stupid replica, another set of hands grabbed onto him and stopped him from moving.

It was the four-eyed Malkuthian colonel. His eyes were hidden beneath clouded glasses. "Luke is right. If one survives, it should be the original."

"...No, _no_, that dreck-!"

He was interrupted by a screaming frequency of Seventh Fonons gathering. The replicas began to glow, along with that stupid replica.

"Everyone, give me your lives! I'm going with you!" The replica's voice cracked, and for once, Asch wondered how the replica felt. Did he regret his path? Was he sad?

The world began to glow around him. He cringed, it was so bright, he couldn't see...

And then it wasn't working, the replica was causing the Seventh Fonons to disperse, everything was going wrong. He ran over without thinking, grabbed onto the replica's hand. It was warm, faint beneath his fingers, almost powdery. Disintegrating.

"A... Asch?" Its words were faint, its voice melting in the air. It sounded painful to speak.

"Stop worrying, replica," he muttered. "I'm not going to die with you. I'm just giving your hyperresonance some power. You can disappear by yourself."

It cringed. Its fiery red hair was beginning to turn transparent, and for some reason, as the replica glowed and melted, Asch felt empty.

"Thank you... Asch..."

"Stupid... stupid replica..."

Then the world turned white.

* * *

><p>The sunset was blood red.<p>

Asch stared into it, stared into the fiery red of Rem as she began slinking beneath the horizon.

It was lonely. Arietta had died in that battle against her most hated rival, Anise. Largo had died in a battle against his most beloved daughter, Natalia. Who knew where Dist was now, after flying off the Tower of Rem? And Sync and Legretta had long gone to Eldrant, no longer earthbound by the lands below.

Tomorrow was the day. He would go to Eldrant to try to stop Van once and for all. And there... he would discover which of them was truly meant to free Lorelei. Him... or it?

His chest hurt. He coughed a little. Time was running out.

"So you're here, Asch?"

That voice.

"Replica," he growled, "what do you want?"

The replica walked over, stood beside him. He scoffed. They must have looked like twins, both with hair like the light of a sacred flame, with the green eyes of the royal family of Kimlasca.

"...The others are at the inn, eating dinner. I thought you might be here." The replica blinked into the horizon, its green eyes reflecting the light of the wine-colored sun.

"...So what do you want?"

"Tomorrow, we're going to Chesedonia. There, we're going to gather naval troops to attack Eldrant from sea while we enter by air. You're going too, right?" It turned to look at him, eyes questioning. He refused to stare back, only glared harder into where the water met the sky in a dazzling display of light.

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up. Stop apologizing for no reason." His voice was level; he wasn't in the mood to explode, not now. The replica seemed surprised by that.

"No, honestly," it said. "I'm sorry about... you know. At Grand Chokmah. I just wish we could get along. Maybe just a little."

The replica had changed. Since almost dying at the Tower of Rem, it had been more vigorous, more appreciative of life. And now it stood on its own.

And that hurt. Until then, the replica had been just that - a replica. Unable to stand straight without the crutches of its friends, a mess of low self-esteem and weakened abilities. But now it thought of itself as its own person - now it didn't need him to be its original. Now it was its own person.

And somehow that was painful. Since that meeting at the fortress capital of Malkuth, he had had a lot of time to think about it. At first, he was angry, so, _so_ angry, but now it was just a dull pain resounding in the back of his head. Perhaps the momentary lull of emotions was just for now, perhaps it was for the rest of his life. But here he was.

"Whatever." He sighed. "You're just a replica. I don't need to get along with you. At Eldrant, we'll find out who's the real one. Who should free Lorelei."

"Why can't we both be real? That's how it is. We're _different-"_

"Shut up!" He felt his angry emotions surging back, his hatred for the replica, the bitterness he felt for having his life wrenched from him. "We're not different! We're the same! And only one of us can live! Do you understand that? _Do you?"_

For a moment there was a silence. The replica did not answer him. It stared out across the ocean, then turned to face him.

"Asch?" It stared at him. "Are you... dying?"

The question took him by surprise. He shook his head for a second, stared at the replica. And it looked concerned, maybe even understanding, empathetic.

It reached out and took his hand, while he was still shocked. And he felt it glimmer, fade for a second, disintegrate between their palms.

As the isofon of Lorelei, Seventh Fonons had always been easier for him to discern. And it was doubtless.

The replica was dying. Slowly, its fonons were disappearing.

"I'm..." He wrenched his hand from the replica. "I'm..."

Somehow, he could not bring himself to admit that he, too, was dying. Somehow, it made him feel empty. Like half of him was being torn from his body, like an abandoned husk.

They were both dying.

"Thank you, Asch," the replica said. It smiled.

Asch shook his head. He turned, and, wordlessly, walked away from the wharf, leaving the replica behind.

The cathedral bell rang seven times, and the sun slipped beneath the horizon.

The world turned black, the black of night.

* * *

><p>Goddamnit, how could he be so <em>stupid?<em>

The rooms were a bleached white, like an asylum, light reflecting off every surface. It was blinding. Giant, stone statues of women, curled in elaborate robes, seemed to mock him from their view so far above.

He kicked the door, once, twice. The sound reverberated around the room, but the door didn't budge.

How could he have fallen into a trap like _that?_ One second, he had simply been running along the white roads of Eldrant, desperate to reach the remaining two of the Six God-Generals, to stop Van. And then the floor had opened beneath him, eaten him, and he had fallen into this room.

The fall had hurt, of course, but that wasn't important right now. He walked back to the center of the room, closed his eyes, felt the power gathering at the ends of his fingertips.

A hyperresonance, glowing with Seventh Fonons, exploded from his hands. The door opened for a split second, then closed immediately after he stopped the flow of his power. If only there was a way to throw his hyperresonance, if there were two of him.

He walked to the white door again. The replica wasn't stupid enough to fall into the same trap as him. He would have to leave the rest to it-

"Aaaaaaugh!"

A fantastic thump.

"O-ow..."

He spun around. It was holding its head, tousling its red hair with gloved hands, getting up from the ground.

Fiery anger filled his chest. Just when he was thinking it wasn't _that_ stupid! He struggled to find the right words. "You..."

At the sound of his voice, the replica seemed to perk up. "Asch! What are you doing here?"

He resisted the urge to slam his boot on the ground. This was so, _so_ stupid. "I could ask the same for you, idiot! House Fabre must have _very stupid_ genes, for my replica to fall into the same trap as me!"

"H-hey," it stammered, "don't say stuff like that. Is there any way out?"

With an exasperated growl, he walked to the center of the room, demonstrated how the hyperresonance could open the door, as long as it was persisted. "One of us has to stay here. For Lorelei's sake..."

He sighed and turned, only to find the replica holding out the Jewel of Lorelei to him.

The replica looked at him seriously. "Take it, Asch. If someone should free Lorelei, it's you. You're the original. I'm weaker. Your hyperresonance would be stronger for defeating Van."

He felt the old anger welling up inside him, spiraling out of control. "Stop it! Just stop! How would you.. how could you possibly know which of us is better?"

He was shaking. It was pitiful. "How can you keep on saying you're worse... you're inferior? Are you trying to insult me?"

"I'm not... Either way, I'm still-"

"Shut up!" He didn't want to hear anything more the replica had to say. "For seven painful years, you've kept me from my family, those I loved, everything! And at the same time, you're telling me you're weaker, that I'm better than you. Are you trying to tell me my life was taken from me by a useless piece of crap?"

He felt his hand moving to his belt, drawing his blade. "Only one of us can leave this room. Now is the time. We're going to find out who the real 'Luke' is. You or me."

"We're both real, Asch-"

He pointed the sword at the replica. Anger burned his throat. "Shut up! You couldn't... you couldn't _possibly_ understand how I feel. Never! You took my past _and_ my future from me. I don't have anything anymore. Nothing but now!"

And then the replica was angry. He could see it in its eyes, the angry fire that had fueled his own life for the past seven years, his only will to live. The anger. It drew its sword, white blade glowing in the blinding light of the room. "Asch... Now is all I have, too. I don't even have a past to lose. But I don't care what you think. I am _me. _No matter what you say, I'm here."

He straightened his sword. "Well said. I will make those words your last, replica!"

And then their swords were clashing, the clanging of metal on metal filling the air.

He couldn't think. Now was the time. Time was running out. He was going to disappear soon.

And then he was on the ground, the replica's white blade pointed at his throat. It was gasping for air, eyes weary, anger ebbing out of it in waves.

He closed his eyes. "You win, replica. Go. Stop Van."

"Asch..." The replica backed away, sheathed his blade.

He supposed it was fitting. He had been replaced by someone else, had everything taken from him by someone else. His whole life, he had told himself that he was somehow superior to the replica, that he was better than it was. But it wasn't true.

It was only fitting for someone who had taken his whole life to defeat him. He was only lying to himself.

But it was painful to see the truth before his own eyes for the first time.

He heard the doors from the other side of the room open, the clanging of Oracle Knights in armor streaming in. He concentrated, built his hyperresonance at the center of the room, held it there. The door opened. He tossed his blade to the replica. The Sword of Lorelei. With the replica's Jewel, they would combine, and it would be able to free Lorelei from Van's capture.

"Asch, without the Sword, you won't have a weapon! I... I'll fight with you!" The replica was pleading now. He shook his head.

"Don't be stupid! I'll just take a weapon from one of the soldiers, dammit! They want the Key of Lorelei! So go!"

The replica was shaking, its eyes filled with apprehension. "Asch..."

"What is it now, stupid?" The soldiers were getting close.

The replica shook its head. "Promise me you'll survive. If... If you don't, Natalia and I will... never stop grieving!"

Natalia. The replica.

He looked away. "Shut up! Fine. I promise. Now _go!"_

The replica ran. The door closed behind it.

His chest hurt, and maybe it was more than just his body weakening.

"No... time... I'm going to disappear soon..."

A soldier shouted. "After the Key of Lorelei!"

He put his faith, his hope in the replica.

"No." He stood in the way, blocking the advancing knights. This was what he had to do. "Your fight is with me, Asch...No. _Luke fon Fabre!"_

* * *

><p>He knew that he was dead.<p>

The Oracle Knights had stabbed him, once, twice, thrice. It had hurt so much, but at the same time, it felt... liberating. Seven years of neglect, of life alone, of tears and unending sadness, it was all over.

He had leaned against a pillar, watched the life ebbing out of himself. Touched the marble floors, felt the pain slowly wash away, along with everything else.

He did not know why his eyes opened now. The world was a myriad of green, red, yellow, bright colors glowing with the power of fonons.

"Hey, Luke." It was the replica's voice, soft and faint. He was holding him, holding his limp body as the world distorted around them. A phantom of Seventh Fonons danced around them, sometimes almost taking shape, sometimes nothing more than trails of burbling light. Lorelei.

He wanted to tell the replica to shut up, but he could not find the strength to speak. He blinked, once, twice. He wasn't certain, but the replica seemed to be glowing, melting into puffs of fonons, glowing with diffused light.

"Luke, it's all over now," the replica was saying. His eyes glimmered in the light of the core, and Asch wondered what he was thinking. "We stopped Van, freed Lorelei... the world will have to change, a lot. We'll have to teach people not to follow the Score, teach people how to efficiently use fonons without the Planet Storm, create a world that will accept the surviving replicas. It's a huge task."

His words still would not come out. The replica smiled; his smile wasn't really so infuriating, was it? "Don't worry, Luke. Everyone's safe. Natalia, Guy, everyone else. You don't have to worry anymore. Everyone's safe."

"Not you. Not me. Not _us."_ Finally, his voice came, raspy and weak.

"No," the replica agreed. It was becoming difficult to see him. His body was glowing, glowing and disintegrating before his eyes. He seemed to think for a moment. "Not me. But you."

He took his hand. His hand was truly disappearing now, becoming immaterial. His eyes were glowing. "Take good care of Tear, would you?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I'm going now."

"W-wait...!"

He couldn't see him anymore. He was only glowing, pure white, melting-

He smiled, blinked the tears out of his eyes. "Thanks for accepting me, Luke. I'm sorry."

"You idiot...!"

Then he disappeared in a burst of fonons, glowing particles that danced in the air. Asch closed his eyes, and the fonons danced around him for a moment - just for a moment - before merging with his body.

And then he felt it. The replica's memories, his thoughts, his feelings... the happiness of having friends who cared, the pain of being inhuman, the guilt of destroying Azkeriuth, the agony of seeing a world that didn't accept his kind, the bittersweet feeling of his friends saying good-bye for the final time...

The replica was gone.

...No, not "the replica."

He stood up from the floating fonic glyph, leaned back, and closed his eyes. The world would not vanish. It was saved.

And perhaps for the first time in seven years, he felt... completed.

"Goodbye...Luke."


End file.
